Courage
by anxioussquirrel
Summary: On his 18th birthday, Kurt got himself a very special tattoo. It has been his talisman ever since. Now, he may need it again.


**A/N: **Kurt-centric. For the sake of this story I assumed that Kurt turns 18 before he starts college and that you don't have to be 21 to get a tattoo in Ohio.

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><p><strong>COURAGE<strong>

On his 18th birthday, Kurt got himself a tattoo.

He was never a fan of marking one's skin permanently based on a momentary fancy, so when the idea of this very specific design first occurred to him, he dismissed it immediately. But months went by and the thought not only didn't go away, but grew more and more insistent, proving to be something else than just a whim. Finally, after careful consideration, he decided to go for it.

The delicate, gracefully scripted _Courage_ on his left wrist has been his talisman ever since. It's always been there whenever he needed a boost of, well, courage – when his inner neurotic acted out, making him overthink everything and doubt himself, or when life was just hard. He hasn't even had to look at it – a fleeting, discreet slide of fingertips over the slightly raised lines of the tattoo has always been enough to reassure him. It has helped him countless times, in innumerable moments of doubt, fear, anxiety, despair – no matter how big or small the reason.

Just like that time when he was about to cross the threshold of college on his first day, having just moved to New York, still a bit dazed, a little lost. There was a sudden moment of apprehension then. What if he'd deluded himself? What if he still wouldn't be accepted, appreciated, even here? What if he was too different to fit anywhere and it would be just like high school? Those people he was about to meet would become an important part of his life now, what if…? Deep breath. C_ourage, Kurt_. _Courage_. Head held high, he stepped in.

When he started going for auditions, the tattoo helped him calm and center himself every time before it was his turn to go in. It was there when he needed this final boost of courage to go on and audition for that off-Broadway role he knew he had no chance to get, but decided to try anyway. And when they actually _loved _him and after weeks of rehearsals, paralyzing stage fright hit him on the night of the premiere, he read the word under the cuff of his shirt over and over again, until he calmed down. Touching the inked skin briefly before going out on stage is still his good luck charm now, after so many performances, so many plays, even though his stage fright hasn't been nearly as severe for years.

The mark was there, under his trembling fingertips, when he was 24 and about to say his marriage vows, suddenly terrified, not because he had any doubts he wanted it, but because it was _for life_ and the responsibility seemed huge when you looked at it this way.

Then he was 29 and he came back to Lima after too long a time, only to bury his father on a dreary November morning when the whole world seemed to weep with him. Months of depression that followed were something he'd never want to live through again. And while his husband's unwavering support might have saved his life, the word on his wrist was what he looked at every morning when he fought to get out of bed.

Two years later, the tattoo was peeking from under his sleeve – the shirt chosen for comfort, not fashion this time – as he stood in a tiny room, his eyes teary, seconds before a tiny bundle in a pink blanket was placed in his arms for the very first time. Next to him, his husband was already cradling an identical, meowing package. Their twin baby daughters. Kurt expected that in this new chapter of their lives he would need all the _courage_ he could find, and he was not mistaken. The silent encouragement written into his skin helped him during many colicky nights, anxiety-filled moments when the girls got sick, and every time parenthood seemed like a daunting task.

His tattoo is still there now, out where he can see it, his hands tight on the steering wheel, as he speeds towards the hospital. The phone call came an hour ago, a stranger's voice telling him that his husband has been in a serious car accident and is being transported there, and he should come as soon as he can. It took him this long to drop their 4-year-old girls at Rachel's and drive here, and he hated every minute of delay. He doesn't know anything and it scares him, this lack of information, of control. He doesn't do well without control. His overactive imagination kicks in much too easily, feeding him the worst possible scenarios in a way that makes them look like the most probable, certain even.

The receptionist at the front desk has kind hazel eyes. It reassures him somehow.

"I was told my husband was brought here from an accident. Blaine Hummel-Anderson."

"Let me check… Here he is. I'm sorry," Kurt's heart stops before she continues, "but I can't tell you anything yet, he's still in surgery. Please, make yourself comfortable in the waiting room, his doctor will meet you as soon as he's out."

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><p>Kurt sits in the quiet, empty room, on an uncomfortable chair, and traces letters on his wrist with a fingertip. <em>Courage<em>. Will he need it again now, more than ever? Will the ink in his skin be enough to give it to him if Blaine isn't there? He's always been there, a hand to hold, warm eyes, voice that soothed. _Courage_ in Kurt's head always sounds like Blaine's voice.

He's only 35. They should have decades to go together. They have children to raise to be good people, they have careers to make, places to see, things to do before they grow old and die. But what if they _don't_ have any more time? What if this morning kiss was the last one, what if he'll never hear Blaine say _I love you_ again, what if their last conversation will have been a grocery shopping list dictated hastily over the phone?

He doesn't want to think about it, afraid to jinx it somehow, but the word on his wrist challenges him to face this possibility. Would he be strong enough if he was left alone with the girls? Would he be able not to shatter, hold himself together, give them a normal, happy childhood without Blaine, if the worst happened?

He can't imagine life without his husband and his heart breaks when he thinks he would have to tell the girls, explain it to them. Yet the thought of them makes him realize that if he had to, he would manage, he would keep their world safe by himself. It wouldn't be easy for any of them – he remembers all too well what it means to grow up without one parent – and he would have to find a truckload of courage for every step of the way, but as much as he loves Blaine, he wouldn't shatter completely, not anymore. A part of him would die and he would never be the same. He would definitely have to lean on family and friends for support, a lot, but he would survive and fight for himself and their daughters. If the situation was reversed, Blaine would do the same.

Suddenly calmer, Kurt looks up just as a doctor in green scrubs enters the waiting room.

"Mr. Hummel-Anderson?"

"That's me. How is my husband?"

"He'll be fine. He's got a mild concussion, two cracked ribs and we had to surgically set his broken leg, but it's nothing life-threatening. He had a lot of luck. You can go see him now, he should wake up soon."

"Thank you."

Kurt's chest feels so light he swears he could fly. Blaine will be fine. There's still time for more love, more living. Their family is intact.

But as he follows the doctor, he realizes something: that he's stronger now than he was barely an hour ago, when he was stepping into this hospital. That sometimes courage isn't fighting life difficulties or taking chances you're afraid to take – sometimes it means quietly confronting your greatest fears, those that you're terrified to even think about, and reaching deep into yourself to see and measure what's in there.

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><p><strong>Kurt's tattoo is based on something I really want for myself :)<strong>


End file.
